


Yes Sydney, There Is A Santa Claus

by Medie



Category: Alias
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-21
Updated: 2010-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-07 11:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She can't believe the lie...neither can he. Maybe together they can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes Sydney, There Is A Santa Claus

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks [](http://misssimm.livejournal.com/profile)[**misssimm**](http://misssimm.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

Christmas in LA...humbug.

Palm trees and sand dunes a decent substitute for pine trees and snow banks did not make and while Tom Grace had never been a huge fan of Christmas, living in Los Angeles was threatening to finish off whatever Yuletide spirit he had left.

Before, he'd make an attempt at the whole thing. Tree, maybe a light or two...just a little something to at least make a passing nod at it. But the mood he was in, he just didn't want to bother. So, the strategy for Christmas became head down until New Years unless he got lucky and APO summoned. A little terrorist action was precisely what a man needed to jingle a few bells.

As it was, he'd planned on finishing a little paperwork and maybe dropping in on an old movie marathon at a revival house downtown. Rachel had been chattering on about it before she'd left for the holidays, spirited off to God only knew where to join her family, and he'd promised to check it out.

So, that was his plan and damn it he was sticking to it but first he had a stop to make.

That stopped turned out to be a little longer than expected.

He heard the crying even before the door opened to reveal a harried looking Sydney Bristow and a positively infuriated Isabelle.

Tom, never one to be caught off guard, tilted his head and held up the gaily-colored Christmas bag. "Ho, ho, ho?" It was a lame joke but it accomplished what he was going for. Over the baby's angered wailing, Sydney managed a wan smile. "Tell you what," he continued, inviting himself in, "I'll make a trade, presents in exchange for baby. Sound good?"

Now, he was hardly the experienced babysitter but the way he looked at it, life around the Bristows required a man to think fast on his feet. His thinking was currently telling him that Sydney, a woman he'd never known to be frazzled, looked about ready to fall flat on her face and even super spies needed a break.

Now, being who she was, he fully expected Isabelle to break his nose with one of those chubby little fists of death she was flailing about - clearly taking after her mother's side of the family - but apparently, shock factor worked for daughter as well as mother.

Sydney confirmed her status of being well past her proverbial wits end when she handed over the baby without complaint and accepted the bag. Isabelle confirmed his shock factor suspicions when she immediately silenced in her wailing and stared up at him from eyes that reminded him of Director Bristow.

Uh oh.

He stared down at her and offered an uncomfortable smile. "Hi."

The baby stared back, those eyes forming a suspicious squint that definitely reminded him of her grandfather. Great, he was getting the Bristow Glare from an infant. The kid was going to be an unholy terror when she hit two.

"I don't believe it." Sydney commented with a huffed breath. "She's been going at it for a half hour straight for absolutely no reason..." She pushed her bangs out of her face with a free hand and smiled sheepishly at him. "I'm sorry; I'm completely...Anyway, Merry Christmas, Tom." She held up the bag. "Thanks but you..."

"Hey, baby's first Christmas and all right?" The smile he gave her was more genuine than he'd intended. Mostly because he'd realized that he'd somehow fallen into that weird rocking motion people always did with babies. Talk about pre-programmed behavior. He didn't ask how things were going. He had a pretty good idea. A respectable sized Christmas tree stood in one corner with ornament boxes scattered about it's base but there was little else in the way of decoration in the house.

Her gaze followed his and her expression went from relieved to sheepish. "It's been...I just didn't have a whole lot of time. Rachel and I were going to do it but then Dad managed that visit with her family and..."

"Izzy here declared war?" Tom looked down at the baby who squinted all the more. That kid was definitely a Bristow and he had his suspicions that Isabelle had her suspicions as to his intentions toward her mother. He was also pretty sure the baby could take him in a fight, all things considered. "It's a rule, I hear. Christmas plus baby equals chaos and the arrival of merciful angels to save the day." He made a show of looking around then turned back to her. "Guess those angels are late, huh?"

She laughed but he could hear the edges of a sob in the sound. "It's Christmas, they're probably swamped." He watched her muster up a genuine smile and nod her head toward the living room. "Come on in. I'd say sit down but Isabelle's in a..."

"Sit and I scream my head off like an infant-sized banshee?" He finished for her with a faintly innocent expression.

She squinted, her nose crinkling up in a far more attractive version of the Bristow stare then she laughed a little. "Marshall?"

"Marshall." He agreed. "I only look like I'm not paying attention to the Mitchell stories. The way I figure, research for any future gigs playing harried fathers who happen to be terrorists on the side."

"Good move." She deadpanned, moving to put the bag underneath the tree. "Did I say thanks for these, I...?"

"You did." He assured, still rocking Isabelle in his arms.

She smiled uncertainly, pushing her hair away from her face, and he could tell the uncertainty went beyond what to say next. Sydney wasn't accustomed to asking for help but he could see the unspoken plea in her eyes. He wasn't even sure she knew it was there herself.

"How about I take Isabelle duty for a while?" He offered, breaking the awkward silence. "Maybe you can finish the tree or watch a movie or something. Y'know, just...take a breather?"

She smiled and shook her head in protest, just like he'd anticipated she would, "I can't do that, Tom, you're...it's Christmas and..."

"I have absolutely nothing to do but go watch some movie thing downtown so I can tell Rachel it sucked and she really shouldn't feel bad about missing it." He put on his most pleading expression, making up an excuse as he went, "Then there was this thing Marshall wanted to do...Seriously, Sydney, paperwork, movies and avoiding the Flinkman family frivolities...that's my Christmas plan."

The look he got in response to that could only be described as a pained smile. "He asked me to the same thing." She admitted ruefully.

Tom freed up one hand to shrug out of his coat while holding Isabelle with the other, then swapped them out. "Okay, so we'll pace the floors, you relax a bit."

"Tree first." Sydney vowed. "Then relax."

He tried a look of his own. "That is supposed to be relaxing so pour up a glass of wine or hot chocolate or something, put on Bing Crosby or whoever, and then *relax*."

She let out a hint of a laugh. "When did you get so domesticated?"

"State secret - I tell you, I kill you and then your father kills me and has a ton of paperwork to clear. Best leave it alone." He looked down at Isabelle. "She coming up on bedtime anytime soon? We can try the PJ thing; take advantage of the lull in hostilities."

Sydney pointed to a door. "On my bed."

On her bed. In her bedroom. The natural place he would expect to find her bed of course but that was beside the point. Walking into Sydney Bristow's bedroom with Sydney Bristow's baby smacked of an intimacy he wasn't sure he had a right to claim. Actually, he knew he didn't have a right to claim it. What he really wasn't sure of was whether or not he had the right to even want to claim it. Because he kind of did. Sydney was a woman that was damn hard to resist. He'd met her in the midst of a pregnancy that was at the heart of the worst time of her life, or so he'd thought until he'd found out she had familial catastrophes like most people had colds, and that was not the time to start nursing unrequited feelings for a woman. Especially not a woman who could, no matter how advanced her pregnancy, beat the hell out of him if he so much as looked at her funny. Not that he had been. At least, not looking in the funny sense. Because looking he kind of had been. A lot.

"Okay," he risked putting Isabelle down and met her gaze, "you know me and I know you and I know with your family you're probably already a black belt. So, I'm going to be changing your clothing this evening and it is all perfectly innocent and I promise I'm not here to put the moves on Mom so can we avoid any trips to the emergency room on my behalf? The guys'll never let me hear the end of it if I get my ass kicked by a girl. Especially not a girl who's still working on solid foods."

Isabelle's answer to that was to gum her fist.

Tom took that to be an assurance of no bodily injury and leaned over to get the pajamas. Sydney was trying. Rudolph PJs were definitely the required fashion of the season. "Stylin'," he proclaimed solemnly, holding them up for the baby's perusal. "You will be the envy of all the under one set."

"You're good with her." Sydney commented from the doorway.

"I fake well." He countered, deftly avoiding the kick of Isabelle's little foot when he tried to remove her sock. "She takes after you."

"No, that was Mom." There was a touch of sadness in her voice but Tom felt the determination too and decided any jokes about international fugitive grandmothers would be best left unspoken. "Watch out for her right hook. That's all Dad, I'm pretty sure he's training her when he babysits."

Jack Bristow babysitting.

He'd want pictures but he was pretty sure he was a dead man.

"You're supposed to be relaxing," he pointed out, emerging victorious with Isabelle's socks and Baby Gap pants. "Not observing."

"Believe me," she laughed, leaning over to hand him the pajamas, "I am relaxing. Someone else doing this? It's a vacation. But, in my defense, I wanted to tell you her bottle's ready if you actually are willing to try putting her down."

"Why not? Living dangerously's what they pay me for." He lifted the pajama-clad baby back into his arms. "And I'm getting a decent Christmas Eve out of the bargain. Good payment." He turned and caught the look in Sydney's eyes, something twisting in his gut in response. It was... "Great company and all."

She seemed to shake herself out of whatever it was and smiled wistfully. "Liar."

***

"You spiked the hot chocolate."

The accusation was met with a look of wide-eyed innocence. "Did not."

Tom leaned over just a little too far and held up the mug. "I, Ms. Bristow, am a spy, an agent of the United States government. An agent employed by a top secret branch of a highly trained organization. Believe me when I say I can spot spiked chocolate."

She let out a giggle. "Okay, maybe a little." She lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug. "We needed the help I think. Christmas in our world is..."

"The biggest fake out in history?" He finished with a nod. "Joy to the world's hard to buy when you kill people for a living or, at least, hurt 'em a little."

"Pretty much." She sighed, leaning her head back against the couch. "Will, you've read about him right?" He nodded again and she kept on going. "Will, he asked me to spend Christmas with him. He figured, y'know, we're all that's left of everyone and with Isabelle...Christmas alone stinks and he's right but...Even after everything Will's been through, he doesn't think the way I do. The way we do. We look at everything and see the lies and..." She looked morose. "I don't think I'm a happy drunk."

"I don't think you're drunk."

He watched her lips twitch despite herself. "You've got a point there." She smiled sadly, a look he saw too often on her face, "Sometimes I wish I could just go out and get hammered. Francie and I...we used to sometimes. Bad day? Margaritas...She made them at her restaurant...." Her face fell into an even sadder expression and Tom thought fast. Memories of the report came back to him. Allison Doran, the agent who'd doubled Francie, had ambushed and killed her in the kitchen.

He reached out, sliding a hand into her hair and rubbing her neck. "Don't go there." He murmured quietly. "You've got enough on your plate without dragging up the past."

"Oh come on, it's Christmas Eve," she pointed out, her voice bitter, "they're just the ghosts of Christmas Past." She wanted to lean back against him, he could see it in the way her body moved back into his touch. He wanted her to. He wanted her to just lean back against him and he wanted...God he wanted. "Might as well open up the door and let them in."

"Nah, I say slam it in their faces and forget entirely, at least for one night." He kept rubbing, emboldened by the fact she hadn't ripped his arm off and beaten him to death with it.

Sydney sighed, leaning back just a little further. "God, that feels great."

"That was the general plan of it." He assured as lightly as he could manage. "We're about relaxing tonight, remember? Relaxing and actually being normal for one night. Nice, ordinary, living under the illusion of safety, normal..."

She turned her head, looking at him through the curtain of her hair. "I don't know what normal is anymore. I don't think I ever did."

"Sure you did." He argued. "You always knew it was a lie people tell themselves to get through the day, you just never admitted it to yourself before." He watched the emotions play across her face. "That's the difference between us and them. We know it's a lie...we just never let ourselves buy into it. It's Christmas Eve, Syd. A bunch of clueless kids are waiting for an imaginary fat man to squeeze down a chimney they may or may not have to deliver them presents. If they can do that? We can be normal for a night."

Sydney completely turned to face him, sitting upright on the floor, her expression solemn. "I never believed in Santa."

"Me either. Well, I kinda did, and then I caught Mommy doing a hell of a lot more than kissing him but..." He shrugged. "I played along for the folks."

"So did I. My parents did before Mom..." It was her turn to shrug. "After that it didn't matter but..."

"Sometimes you just want to believe the lie."

"Yeah," she almost whispered, "sometimes you just want to believe."

She was looking at him with that look again and Tom didn't know whether he hated that look or loved the hell out of it. Sydney Bristow was...Reckless, driven, stubborn, quite possibly a little crazy, brilliant, beautiful...and staring at him like he was a goddamn candy cane. "Syd?" He didn't know what he was supposed to do next. He knew what he *wanted* to do next but what he wanted to do next would no doubt result in serious bodily harm. First she'd kick his ass six ways from Sunday and then he'd wake up to one of his fingers being chopped off by Daddy. Wanting Sydney Bristow was probably the most dangerous thing he'd ever done and if she wanted him right back...

It was downright suicidal.

He knew what he wanted and he was pretty sure he knew what she wanted but if they were both going to have it she was going to have to close that distance. At the end of the day Sydney was calling the shots.

There was a trace of chocolate on her lips when they pressed up against his, teasing and demanding. He didn't mistake for a second the demand for a request. Sydney didn't do anything halfway and if she was going to lose herself in something she was going to take him with her and he didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of arguing the matter. He could have, of course, if only to put up a token resistance but he didn't give a damn about tokens. Instead, he closed his hands around her waist and hauled her onto his lap.

Never one to pass up any kind of opportunity, she promptly made herself comfortable and made him a hell of a lot more uncomfortable, her body grinding down on his in a way that had things waking up and perking up. He grunted automatically, his grip tightening and she laughed into his mouth.

"Like that?" She didn't wait for his answer and Tom grinned as she pulled back to tug his shirt free, throwing it over one shoulder. He was pretty sure it hit the tree but he wasn't going to point that out just yet. Pointing anything out might stop...oh, god where'd she learn that thing with her hips? He grunted and grabbed for her, moving them so she was flat on her back and he was above her. She was rushing through this and no way in hell was he rushing anything.

"Easy," he cautioned, looking down at her, lips wet and eyes bright with lust. "Slow down and enjoy yourself." He held her wrists flat against the floor, keeping her gaze locked with his.

She stared back just as steadily, meeting the challenge. "I am."

"No you're not." He risked releasing one hand to slide his beneath her shirt, seeking skin. "Not yet anyway, gimme a minute."

"That all you need?" She offered something that might have been a pout. Whatever it was, it was doing some very fun things to his anatomy.

Tom gave her a look then flicked the buttons of her shirt open. "Nope." He lowered himself down, kissing her hard and fast. "But you gotta start somewhere right?"

She made an attempt at a shrug but pinned as she was it was an awkward one. "Starting would be good."

And there they were, the emotional walls the woman set up and hid behind daily, she was playing with him and no way was he going to let her do that. Not with this. "Just make sure it's me you're starting with." This time, he didn't give her the chance to speak as he freed her other hand. He needed both free for this. Resting on one, he slipped the other down between them to find the tab of her jeans.

Sydney watched with what he might have called baited breath as he worked it down and then slipped inside.

She was already wet and he let himself smile when he heard the faintest of gasps in response to his curious fingers. "How's that for a start?" He asked, not quite able to resist asking.

"Shut up." She all but growled her hips moving up for more.

"I plan on it."

Her jeans were an obstacle he had little problem removing and he saved her the trouble of worrying about the rest of his clothes while he was up. He was a helpful guy like that. Sydney, meanwhile, laid back and watched the show with interested eyes. She didn't make any attempts at hiding her perusal and he rewarded that with a kiss. He didn't need any games for this. She wasn't playing about what she wanted from him and he wasn't about to play at what he wanted from her.

The kiss was searing as her hands came up to lock behind his head, holding him down while her body pushed up into his. Post-pregnancy Sydney was as limber as she'd been previously and he was enjoying that to the full. Skin rubbed against skin and hands wandered, seeking and exploring. Both had bodies marked with the remembrances of their career and knew each scar came with a story. He'd gotten to read a lot of hers. She had some idea of some of his. But there were stories held back on both sides and, maybe, someday they shared but...

His train of thought was broken when Sydney did something with her legs and he was flat on his back and she was grinning down at him, flush with triumph.

"You with me, Grace?" She asked flippantly, apparently very well aware of what the proximity of her breasts was doing to his concentration. He tried to pay attention to what she was saying but they were right *there* and...Damn, but the baby fairy had been generous. She moved and they moved and he stared which brought a smug laugh. "You are such a *guy*."

He moved up against her, grinning smugly, "was hoping you'd notice."

"Like I could miss it," she rolled her eyes in exasperation before an idea seemed to hit her. He watched expectantly as she slid backward and stopped perilously close of her goal. Now she was the one grinning at him smugly, her fingernails tracing lazy patterns on his skin. She sat there for a long moment then moved one hand behind her.

Tom grunted when it closed around him and moved just enough to torture. Who needed stuff jabbed beneath fingernails or limbs cut off? Just get Sydney to do what she was doing. There wasn't a man on the planet that wouldn't cave with Sydney Bristow looking like *that* and doing *that*. Pain? Highly overrated. He shut his eyes when she squeezed just a little and moved it again. "Killin' me here, Syd."

"Oh, but what a way to go."

He couldn't argue. If making love to Sydney Bristow was his way off the mortal coil, Tom could definitely go with that.

***

"Next time, we make it to the bed."

It was incredible how her voice could change like that, becoming a lazy whisper that slid teasingly along his skin.

He didn't ask about the next time part. Tempting fate was something Tom Grace did professionally. Personally he hedged his bets and watched for his opportunities. No, instead of that he focused on the sound of her voice, the feeling of her curled up beside him, and the pattern of light the Christmas tree scattered across the ceiling. If this was believing a lie, he could see why everyone was so into doing it. "Beds are nice."

"And less likely to give you splinters."

"There is that." He paused then added, "Syd?"

She turned, snuggling in which was not a bad thing all things considered. "Yeah?"

"Merry Christmas."


End file.
